


Dark Star

by CuddlesandChocolateCake



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Healing, Songfic, maybe a bit of angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlesandChocolateCake/pseuds/CuddlesandChocolateCake
Summary: Azriel wakes up next to Mor and reflects on how they got to where they are now.Songfic based on the song Dark Star, by Jaymes Young





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a songfic before, nor have I ever written a Moriel fic, so this should be fun... I heard this song and immediately thought of Azriel; so since I couldn't get it out of my head, this is what I came up with. As usual, I hope you enjoy! (I'm worse at summaries than I am at tagging...)

_I’ve looked a long time to find you_

It had been a year since they had finally decided that it was time enough to stop torturing themselves. Since they had decided that they would not— _could_ not—waste any more time waiting for the other when they were standing face-to-face, both refusing to make the first move. After five hundred years of being a constant in each other’s lives, of being each other’s closest companion, of unflinchingly being there for each other to get through impossibly difficult times, they had finally _truly_ found each other. More accurately: in each other, they had found themselves. These were the thoughts that ran through Azriel’s head as he shook off the cobwebs of sleep, his shadows retreating for a short time from the soft, dewy light of morning. 

_I drifted through the universe just to lay beside you_

As the first rays of sunlight filtered in through the window in his— _their_ —bedroom, Azriel took a few moments just to observe the miracle that was his Morrigan as she slept soundly beside him. He catalogued every muffled sound that she made in her sleep, her deep, even breaths like the sweetest music as they fluttered a rogue tendril of golden hair that had fallen across her face. He watched the slow rise and fall of her bare chest, her nightgown having been shed long before sleep—Azriel allowed himself a small, satisfied smile—and he wondered how he had become so lucky. How was it that this beautiful spirit of light had come to love him, a dark creature of shadow?

_Anywhere you want me to take you, I’ll go_

Some things hadn’t changed between them. He would still sell his soul for her if she so much as hinted that it would make her happy, and she was always there when he returned from his missions, ready to take care of him in whatever state she found him in. If he needed to talk about what he’d done, she was a ready listener; if he came back covered in blood and gore, she cleaned him up, unbothered when the mess inevitably ended up on her hands as well; when he didn’t want to talk about the unspeakable things he had done, she would sit with him in silence, holding his scarred hands like a lifeline. She had done this before they’d decided to finally let themselves love each other like they had privately for centuries, and she continued to do so still.

The difference was that now, he allowed himself to lay beside her at night and let her warmth drive away any of the residual cold darkness. He never felt safer than when he was wrapped in her arms as he drifted to sleep each night; and it had taken him awhile to realize that Mor felt the same way—that she was not repelled by his darkness, and that she did not fear his shadows. _They’re just another part of you to love,_ she had once told him after a particularly horrific mission, when he had come home completely cloaked in shadow, afraid to come close to her light lest he dim it even slightly. But she’d taken him into her arms without hesitation and soothed the shadows away, allowing him the chance to heal from whatever horrors he had lived through.

_But there’s things about me that you just don’t know_

Sometimes, he didn’t know if he deserved to heal, because there could be no coming back from some of the abominable acts he had committed. Some things that he was terrified that, if Mor knew about, she might decide that he wasn’t worth loving after all—that some kinds of darkness weren’t worth being touched by her light. That he couldn’t be saved, not even by her. This was why he still refused to take her on his missions, no matter how much she protested that there was nothing he could do to make her stop loving him.

_If I told you where I’ve been, would you still call me baby?_

Despite the unbreakable trust between them, one forged in steel for five centuries, some missions still remained unspoken of. Reports to Rhys were given curtly and professionally, and the memories were then filed away—but never forgotten. No, they sometimes came back to him when he thought that he might just be capable of redemption, to remind him that that would never be a possibility for him. 

_If I told you everything, would you call me crazy?_

When he’d finally admitted that horrible suspicion to Mor, she’d adamantly reminded him of all the good that he’d done, of all of the thousands upon thousands of lives that he’d saved with his dark work. She had told him that if _anyone_ was worthy of redemption, it would be him. That he was not a creature of torture and evil, but a creature of courage and sacrifice. 

_‘Cause baby I’m a dark star, dark star_

_She was only half right,_ he thought. Perhaps he _was_ a creature of sacrifice, but he was also darkness incarnate. He was one with the shadows, and they had been and would always be a constant presence in his long life, for better or for worse. 

_My heart was was born out of the fire_

It was ironic that it had been light, in fact, that had been the catalyst for his darkness. He remembered the oil, the fire, the excruciating pain, the cruel, twisted faces of his brothers watching him scream as he was gifted his very first scars. Despite what Mor told him repeatedly, there were some wounds that never healed. He looked at his hand, still clutched tightly in hers even in sleep. His mottled skin was a permanent reminder that there were some—perhaps many—who were of the opinion that he was unloveable, and who had thought so even before he had become who he was today.

_I lost love a thousand years ago, and still, I can’t find her_

Some mornings, he’d wake up to an empty bed, and his heart would stop for a single, panicked moment as he feared that maybe he’d dreamt the last year. But then she’d appear at his side with a hot cup of tea; or she’d emerge from the washroom with wet hair and a towel around her waist; or he would find a note on her pillow smelling faintly of citrus and cinnamon, telling him where she was and always ending with the same three words: _I love you._

Between his dark profession and his abhorrent scars, Azriel had resigned himself long ago to the reality that love was not something he would be so fortunate as to have in his lifetime. That had changed the moment he’d joined forces with Cassian and Rhysand, for he had known perhaps no greater love in his lifetime than what he shared with his brothers. 

But from the beginning, from the first time he had laid eyes on her golden figure, he had known that Mor was off-limits. No doubt, she would have found him as repugnant as he found himself—maybe even more so. But time and again both then and now, she had vehemently opposed that presumption. And so he had been introduced to a new kind of affection, one that he had never allowed himself to hope for, especially not with Morrigan.

With time and reflection, he’d come to understand the impossibility of the choice she’d had to make all that time ago, with Cassian. She had done what she had needed to do to secure her freedom, her agency, and she had paid an unspeakable price for it. Azriel shuddered as he recalled the day he had found her half-dead in the Autumn Court, her mutilated body exposed to the elements, discarded unceremoniously as if she were nothing more than a piece of garbage. Mor stirred in bed next to him, her small hand tightening around his and bringing him back to himself, and he pushed back all thoughts of that dark, terrible day. 

Azriel knew now that he hadn’t lost her all that time ago, and that he very well might have if she had chosen him that day instead of his brother. That if she had chosen him then, she might not have had the chance to choose him now.

_Now I don’t love like I used to_

Azriel loved her differently now. At long last, their days of pining from afar were over. He could finally, _finally,_ love Mor the way she deserved to be loved: wholly and unabashedly. It had taken some time, and he still doubted himself occasionally, but he had finally come to terms with the fact that Mor loved him with as much strength as he loved her. He was no longer afraid that one day she’d decide that he wasn’t good enough for her. A year of her choosing him over and over had been enough to remind him that there were people who found worth in him, that he was worth loving. Mor trusted him enough to share a bed with him—to share her body with him. And he trusted Mor with his heart, with his soul—even if he wasn’t ready to share every one of his gruesome stories with her. 

_But I’ve got stories I could tell you, if I want to_

And maybe he’d tell her those stories someday. Maybe one day, when he was sure enough in himself, he would finally come clean and let go of what haunted him day after day. But for now, he would enjoy the novelty of this nascent change between them. 

_If I told you where I’ve been, would you still call me baby?_

One day, he might tell Mor of all the places he’s been, both in Prythian and in himself, although even the darkest corners of the realm didn’t shine a candle to the darkest corners of his soul. And one day, he might bare it to her in its entirety and be unafraid of the consequences.

_If I told you everything, would you call me crazy?_

Azriel was starting to understand that perhaps there was truly no corner of his soul dark enough to scare Mor away. She had joked once that he could grow a second head and she would still kiss both of them goodnight, so perhaps it would not be so bad to finally share his darkness with someone. Perhaps he was ready to let Mor in. 

_‘Cause baby I’m a dark star, dark star_

It was true that Azriel was terrified of crushing her light. But he took in the large open window, the shadows that the sun cast on the planes of her face, and he saw in them a glowing, marvellous truth. He wasn’t the night to her day—his darkness was not the darkness that quenches light. He smiled at his Morrigan. She was the stars and he was the night sky—for sometimes, it must be the darkness that brings out the light. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought, and come find me on Tumblr!


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